Scars of War
by Erandir
Summary: The first time Sweden sees him after the war, bandaged and pale, his skin almost as white as the sheets of the hospital bed where he lays, the stoic nation can only barely manage to conceal his horror from the nurse who shows him in.
1. Chapter 1

"**The soldier, above all other people, prays for peace, for he must suffer and bear the deepest wounds and scars of war." **– Douglas MacArthur

The first time Sweden sees him after the war, bandaged and pale, his skin almost as white as the sheets of the hospital bed where he lays, the stoic nation can only barely manage to conceal his horror from the nurse who shows him in. This could not be right. This must be the wrong room. That cannot be him.

But it is. Finland. His little wife – not anymore, not since Russia took him away all those years ago, and probably never again – was always so fragile in appearance, but so strong on the inside. Sweden feels a wave of guilt wash over him. If he had stepped in maybe this would not have happened. Ten thousand volunteers were not enough to turn the tide of war, though he sent more than anyone else, and he had known that then as well as he knows it now.

Against his better judgment, Sweden's legs carry him in swift long strides across the room to the side of the bed where the defeated nation lays. Finland is sleeping. Sweden is glad, for he is certain he would not see in those violet eyes the love he had seen centuries ago, nor even the desperation they had held the last time Sweden saw him. He expects bitterness, hatred, betrayal. Of everyone, should not Sweden have been the one to come to Finland's aid when it was needed most? For all his professions of love, should not he have done everything in his power to protect the object of his affections? But he had not.

As Sweden stands there, staring down at Finland, so small and vulnerable in that hospital bed, the wounded nation begins to stir. Sweden does not notice at first, too lost in his own guilty thoughts, but when he does a momentary panic sets upon him. He wants to leave, run away before Finland can see him and turn all the bitterness and anger that Sweden knows he deserves in his direction. But he does not move fast enough. Finland wakes up slowly, his eyelids fluttering before blinking open slowly. Those violet irises stare blankly at the ceiling for a long moment, blinking slowly. And then, as though finally noticing another presence in the room, his gaze turns toward Sweden. The taller nation freezes, unable to move or speak under that gaze.

And then Finland glances down at himself, at the bandages that wrap around his shoulder and torso, and doubtlessly further down where they are covered by blankets, at the empty space where his left arm should have been, and Sweden can't take it anymore. It breaks him, seeing the smaller nation like this. Sweden collapses to his knees, apologies spilling from his lips. He has been doing a lot of apologizing lately – to Denmark on a similar hospital bed, thin, ragged, and bruised, to Norway, barely able to stand for his exhaustion – but none of it makes him feel any better.

The apologies continue flowing, unchecked, from his mouth, a choked jumble of languages that Finland probably cannot even understand at this point, but Sweden cannot stop himself. Not until he feels Finland's hand come to rest gently atop his bowed head. Then the words die on his tongue and slowly he raises his head.

He is on Finland's left side, forcing the wounded nation to reach over with his remaining limb. The other one will return sooner or later. That is how their bodies work, as soon as his people recover from their losses Finland will look whole again. But Sweden does not think he will ever be able to get this image out of his mind.

Finland offers him a small smile, weak and tired. Sweden does not think he deserves it, and he says so. But Finland does not agree. Sweden did what was best for his people, everyone did, and he helped as much as he could. And it did help. Perhaps not enough to assure a victory, but it did help. But that knowledge is not enough to comfort Sweden. Not now. Not while he stares at the broken body on the hospital bed.

And when Finland tells him that it will all be okay Sweden wants to believe him. He wants things to go back to the way they were before all this madness, but he is not sure they can. And he knows that every time he sees the scar that will inevitably remain even after Finland is healed it will remind him. But Sweden does not know if he wants to remember.

"**Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars." **– Kahlil Gibran

It takes a long time. Or perhaps it only feels like a long time. Finland is healing slowly, regaining his strength as his people pull together the fragments of their lives. Sweden visits him frequently, as often as he can, though the world sometimes seems busier now than during the war.

When Finland is strong enough to get out of bed for the first time Sweden discovers the full extent of the smaller nations wounds. The entire left side of Finland's body, from his arm to his foot is littered with scars. Red and angry, they take the shape of cuts, burns and bullet holes. And though it is bandaged, Sweden can see Finland's foot is mangled and misshapen. Again he feels the urge to apologize, but this time Sweden keeps his mouth shut.

And still Finland smiles at him as he leans on a crutch and attempts to take his first shaky steps. Sweden insists then on taking Finland home to look after him, not as nations, but as people. Finland is reluctant at first, but eventually agrees. So Sweden takes him home, to Finland's home.

Sweden knows he will stay as long as Finland needs him, longer if asked. But Finland only laughs when he hears this. He does not believe the words. And Sweden wonders if Finland no longer trusts him. Or if Finland will ever trust him again.

It feels like a long time. Finland gets stronger by the day. But the most obvious of his injuries refuses to heal. Now Finland is beginning to learn how to get along with only one hand. That frightens Sweden. He fears the wound may never heal.

It is sudden when it happens. So sudden neither see it happen. When Finland goes to sleep everything is as it has been. The next morning he wakes with the empty space filled and the only sign it had ever been empty a thin white line of scar tissue. Sweden holds his hand tightly, hugs him close, and he is not aware of what words fall from his lips. He only knows that Finland is whole again. And now, maybe, things can return to the way they were.

"**There is something beautiful about all scars of whatever nature. A scar means the hurt is over, the wound is closed and healed, done with."** – Harry Crews

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><p>Author's Note: I don't know where this came from. I shouldn't write at two in the morning. I'll go back to writing Fara i Viking now.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

_This was never meant to be more than a one-shot. But somehow this happened._

* * *

><p>"<strong>Wars bring scars"<strong> – Benjamin Franklin

It is with reluctance that Finland agrees to let Sweden stay with him. Although he says otherwise, Finland has not entirely forgiven his neighbor for his actions, or lack thereof, during the war. But the defeated nation can barely walk on his own. He needs help and he knows it. So he allows Sweden to come back home with him, lets the other man stay in the guest room and take care of him during his recovery.

The first few days are spent in bed. Finland sleeps a lot and Sweden cooks his favorite meals. Or at least what he remembers as Finland's favorite meals. It turns out they are not all the same. Sweden does not like to be reminded of how much time they have spent apart. But Sweden does his best to make Finland feel comfortable and safe, and Finland is grateful for that.

They get visitors occasionally. Rarely. Most of their kind are busy attempting to recover from their own wounds and cannot take even a few hours to visit another's sick bed. Finland is actually grateful for this. He hates feeling so weak, like an invalid, barely able to get around his own house. And it only makes him feel worse every time Sweden tries to help.

When he is finally able to get out of bed and walk around without a crutch Finland feels liberated. He paces circles around the house, unable to keep still after so long confined to his bed. Of course, Sweden worries and follows him around nervously until Finland finally gets fed up and makes himself comfortable on the sofa just to get the taller nation to stop hovering. But as soon as Sweden leaves the room he's up again, reveling in his regained mobility.

That night he attempts to help cook dinner, needing to feel productive and useful. Sweden lets him help, but relegates the wounded nation to simple tasks; fetching things from the pantry and stirring the pot of soup. This routine continues, and at first Finland does not have a problem with it. He enjoys how he can once again fend for himself, but eventually the menial tasks grow too simple, too boring. When Sweden goes outside to get more wood for the fireplace Finland takes a milk bottle from the ice box and attempts to open it. But the lid is screwed on tight and he cannot get a good grip with only one hand. The glass bottle slips from his hold, crashing to the kitchen floor and shattering into a hundred pieces just as Sweden comes back inside.

The taller nation is at his side in an instant, checking to see if he is hurt and what he was trying to do. Sweden would have been back in a minute to help him.

When Finland snaps that he can do things himself Sweden backs away liked a kicked puppy. But Finland does not notice the hurt in the other man's eyes as he concentrates on getting the mess cleaned up. He feels weak, useless, and he will not let Sweden see him this way.

Sweden is on edge after that, nervous every time he offers Finland help with everyday tasks; tasks a child could perform but that Finland now struggles with. The frustration of it is enough to bring Finland to tears, and it does so on numerous occasions. Each time in breaks Sweden's heart anew. Sweden wants to help him; he wants so badly to comfort Finland every time he sees tears in his eyes. But the one time he tries it goes horribly wrong.

From the first moment Sweden tries to comfort him Finland only pushes him away weakly. Selfishly, Sweden does not relent and wraps his arms around the smaller nation's shoulders. This proves to be ill advised. Finland screams and fights against Sweden's embrace. Demanding release; demanding to be left alone. Sweden lets go so quickly it is as though he has been burned. And Finland staggers backward, loosing his balance and falling to the floor. Still trembling with anger and frustration, the smaller man scrambles back to his feet. He says he hates Sweden, the words out of his mouth faster than his brain can comprehend them. Immediately he regrets it. He does not look up to see Sweden's face; he knows whatever he sees there will break him. So he runs away, feeling like a coward. In battle Finland would stand up to a nation a hundred times more powerful than him fearlessly, but God forbid he face his own emotions.

"**You know what happens to scar tissue. It's the strongest part of your skin."** – Michael R. Mantell

They fall into a nervous and awkward routine. Sweden stayed at arms length unless Finland specifically asked for his aid, though it was difficult. Frequently he would find Finland sitting on his bedroom floor struggling to tie his own shoes or hunched over the kitchen table cursing at a bottle that would not open.

But despite it all Finland is improving. Every day he struggles a little less. Sweden is conflicted about his feelings when he recognizes this. Finland is adapting to his new disability. And Sweden is happy to see him struggling less; is glad that his frustration no longer brings him to tears. But it reminds him of just how long this has been going on and how much longer it might continue.

Sweden has been neglecting his own work as he stayed here to help Finland. His boss is angry at him, and with good reason. But he cannot bring himself to leave. Not yet.

The rational part of his mind knows that sooner or later Finland will be whole again. His worrying is stupid, but he cannot help it. Every morning he wakes up hoping that this whole thing was just a bad dream. Every morning he is disappointed.

Every morning except one.

Sweden wakes up expecting this day to be the same as all the others. But as he is in the kitchen the house is suddenly filled with sound. Finland comes running out of his bedroom and down the stairs, calling Sweden's name excitedly. He skids to a stop in the kitchen doorway and holds his hands out toward Sweden.

Hands; both of them whole and exactly as they should be. For a long moment Sweden only stares in disbelief. Finland trots up to him, grinning from ear to ear and flexing the fingers on his left hand. Sweden reaches out and grabs his hand, unable to believe his eyes, and Finland just smiles at him.

"**When I stand before thee at the day's end, thou shalt see my scars and know that I had my wounds and also my healing."** – Rabindranath Tagore


	3. Chapter 3

"**Because nobody goes through life without a scar."** – Carol Burnett

"You should probably go home now."

Those are the exact words Finland says when they finish breakfast. Sweden is standing by the sink and he nearly drops the dishes in his hands when he hears them. Finland has been healed for not even an hour and already he is throwing Sweden out. But Sweden thinks he probably should have expected that. Finland had never wanted him around in the first place, and for all his attempts at being helpful he seems to have been nothing but an annoyance. And he does need to go back to his own country to check in with his boss and catch up on all the work he has missed. But that knowledge does not make the words sting any less.

Sweden turns around slowly and looks at Finland, trying to understand the motivations behind the other nation's words. But Finland is staring at the table, pushing the remains of his breakfast around the plate with the fork in his left hand. Finland has never been particularly coordinated with his left hand, and he is even less so at the moment. In any other situation Sweden probably would have found his clumsiness cute.

And Sweden does not know what to do, or what to say. He has been blissfully ignoring the strain in their relationship this whole time, but the tension between them cannot be ignored any longer. It does not escape Sweden that Finland is wary around him. Wary as he has not been for centuries.

Finland does not trust him anymore. Though Sweden has done everything he could think of to try and earn that trust back. He was not there when Finland needed him most. What little he can do now is not enough to make up for that.

Finland does not need him here anymore. It is as simple as that. And because he is no longer needed, Sweden is no longer wanted.

He can leave tomorrow after packing his things. And as he leaves the kitchen Sweden does his best to ignore the breaking of his heart. He should not have, but some part of him had hoped that things would go back to the way they were before all this. Before the war. Before everything. Not for the first time Sweden curses himself for being so hopeless in all matters relating to Finland.

"**Most things break, including hearts. The lessons of life amount not to wisdom, but to scar tissue and callus."** - Wallace Stegner

Sweden has been living there for months. And as he packs up his things to leave it feels like moving house. He had been stupid to assume anything would change, that somehow they could continue like this.

Finland spends the whole day doing everything possible with his left hand; everything that he struggled with the day before. He revels in his newfound and returned freedom. Sweden packs his things and putters around the house, performing menial chores one last time before he is unceremoniously thrown out.

The next morning he stands on the doorstep with his bags. He feels heartbroken, but he does not let Finland see. This is how it will be between them from now on, he assumes. Only friends. Are they even friends?

Finland sees him off with a smile that Sweden cannot bring himself to return; tells him to get back to his own country, his own people; promises that he will be fine on his own. And then Sweden is gone. Gone down the front walk and into the waiting taxi, and then gone down the street and out of Finland's sight. And Finland watches the whole time, and longer, before he disappears back into the house again.

The house is lonely without Sweden.

Quiet.

Finland has grown accustomed to hearing Sweden's soft footsteps as he moves about the house doing menial chores. To feeling Sweden's silent presence in the next room when he goes to bed. To having someone to talk to. He finds he misses it.

Months pass. A year. More.

Finland hears nothing from Sweden, and makes no attempt to contact him. Other things are more important.

It is at a meeting when next they see each other. This time Sweden is finally able to return Finland's smile. He wants to ask a thousand questions, but does not. Instead he shares polite greetings, talks about the weather and everything else that does not matter. He considers inviting Finland for coffee when work is done, but thinks better of it. Not today. Not any time soon, either.

But someday.

"**We are spinning our own fates, good or evil, and never to be undone. Every smallest stroke of virtue or of vice leaves its never-so-little scar."** – William James


End file.
